


An Arrow Toward the Open Sky

by sekaiseifuku



Category: Saiyuki Ibun
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Houmei is a terrible monk, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Zen and shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/pseuds/sekaiseifuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way back to his farm, Toudai finds something quite unexpected on the side of the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Arrow Toward the Open Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [7veilsphaedra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/7veilsphaedra/gifts).



Despite the fact that the day had started out unseasonably warm, the late afternoon wind was incredibly cold. 

As Toudai walked alongside his ox, Momoko, he lamented not having worn a thicker coat on his trip into town. It was supposed to have been a quick run – deliver four bags of rice to Tanaka, pick up a few supplies, and be home and bundled up for the evening's work well before sunset. 

Unfortunately, Tanaka's niece had been visiting and Toudai had not been able to turn down the offer of tea, despite the fact he knew they would be accompanied by an hour of desperate matchmaking attempts by Tanaka's wife. By the time he'd managed to extract himself from the situation, the sun had disappeared behind the mountains and the warm air had vanished, replaced by a biting chill that cut through the light wool of his fall coat. 

As they drew closer to the path up the mountain to his farm, Toudai noticed an object sitting on the road ahead of them that had most certainly not been there when he'd passed by earlier in the day. As he approached, he realized it was a large wooden bowl. 

"Woah," he said to Momoko, patting her gently on the rump as she came to a stop immediately. "Good girl," he added before crossing behind to the other side of the road and bending over to get a better look. Somewhat surprisingly, he realized it wasn't just any bowl, but a monk's begging bowl -- smooth and well-worn -- that contained a handful of copper coins, a half a daikon, and a bright orange persimmon.

He turned to look behind him, then ahead, scanning the road briefly for the bowl's missing owner. It was most unusual for something of this much value, to its owner at least, to be left behind in such a manner, particularly on such a well-traveled road. While people in the area were by and large hardworking, honest folk, there was always the possibility of transient thieves. Enough of them had been caught and flogged over the years that the community had begun to take certain precautions.

Toudai's line of thought was interrupted by the dry rustling of brush on the other side of the road. He turned just in time to see a rumpled figure emerge.

"Oh!" The man stopped as soon as he saw Toudai. He was carrying a bamboo hat and was clad the traditional black robes of a wandering monk; however, rather than being well-kept and tidy, they were tattered and stained with dried mud. His straw-colored hair looked like it had once been tied back, but had worked its way mostly loose and was currently home to a strange mix of dirt, sticks, and the occasional leaf. 

Toudai could not help but notice that despite his rumpled appearance, the man was extremely good looking. 

"Hello!" A lopsided grin lit the monk's face and he gave a small wave. "I don't suppose you've seen a begging bowl around here, have you?" 

"Do you mean this?" Toudai bent down to pick it up and held it aloft. 

"Yes!" The monk clapped his hands and absolutely beamed as he rushed over to take it from Toudai. "Ah ... my dear begging bowl, how lovely to see you again” he said, rubbing it fondly, “…and what do you know, everything is here, just as I left it. What a wonderful surprise!"

There was something about the man that seemed a bit ... off.

"You shouldn't leave something like that on the side of the road," Toudai said gruffly. 

"I suppose not," the monk agreed immediately. "But the children and I were playing hide-and-seek, and I couldn't take my bowl with me for that.

"It would have slowed me down!” he added, an exclamation.

“Hide-and-seek…” Toudai said in disbelief.

“And it seems I must have hidden too well, because I fell asleep and they never did find me. I hope they're not worried..." His voice trailed off in concern.

"Anyone could have robbed you blind." 

"Mmm, yes." The monk nodded. "It's happened before, of course ... one time they took a silver coin and one of the most beautiful peaches I'd ever seen. I’d been looking forward to trying it all day..." 

Toudai's jaw dropped. A silver coin was no small amount of money by anyone’s reckoning, yet the monk appeared to have been more concerned about the loss of a peach. 

_Handsome or not_ , he thought, _the man seems an idiot._

The wind suddenly picked up, catching the newly-fallen leaves from the ground and sending them up into the air in a riot of yellows and reds.

A broad smile crossed the man's face as he looked skyward, reaching out and pulling one of the leaves from the air. "A lovely sight..." This was punctuated by an exaggerated shiver. “... but one enjoyed at the expense of summer's warm nights. I should get going…”

“Where are you staying?” Toudai asked, more out of politeness than genuine concern.

“I’m not entirely sure,” the monk responded, turning the leaf over in his hand. “I suppose this road leads to a town, and towns generally have a temple. They usually let me stay a night or two.” 

_This late in the day and he doesn't even know where the nearest temple is?_ Quite suddenly, Toudai realized that even if the monk set out immediately, the nearest temple was in fact far enough away that he could not possibly reach it before the sun set and temperatures plummeted. And from the smell of the air, an early snow wasn't out of the realm of possibility, either. 

He sighed, internally reassessing the urgency of the tasks he'd planned to do this evening. Many of them could be postponed, he supposed. After all, monks were the spiritual lifeblood of the community -- outsiders or not -- and it was the duty of the community to offer them assistance when needed. Toudai had never been one to set aside his duty, and if that meant welcoming this man into his home for the evening--- 

"Are you _really_ a monk?"

The man began to laugh.

"What?" Toudai was entirely confused by his reaction.

"Nothing, really" he said. "It's just that you’d be surprised how often I get that." 

The man then reached into his robe, pulled out a creased piece of paper, and handed it over. As he unfolded the paper, Toudai could see that the brushstrokes of the characters were strong and graceful on the worn page; whoever had written it was not only educated, but very skilled. 

_Before you stands Houmei, an ordained monk of Antsu-ji.  
He may seem a fool, but the path is exceedingly wide._

At the bottom was the signature of Jikaku, Head Abbott of Antsu-ji, accompanied by an official seal.

Toudai stared at the paper for a moment, not knowing entirely what to think, before Houmei began to laugh, the clear, light sound joining the leaves in the wind around them.

"What?" Toudai looked up to see him clapping in delight.

"Your expression is the best one yet!"

~*~*~*~

Toudai emerged from the barn, desperately ready for the heat of the bathhouse. The pens had been cleaned and filled with fresh hay, the animals had been fed, and everyone was safely secured for the night. He made his way up the snowy path to the main living area of the farm and knocked on the door of the bathhouse. Jouan and her daughter generally bathed much earlier in the day, but it didn't hurt to err on the side of caution. One bucket to the head had been enough to teach him that lesson.

"Come in!"

Damp, warm air laced with the heavy smell of sulphur prickled in his nose as Toudai opened the door and stepped inside. His youngest brother was already in the bath, arms dangling over the side, eyes closed, and hand towel on top of his head. 

"Thanks for your work today, Genkai," he said, beginning to remove his clothing and drop each piece into the basket that would be fetched later for washing.

"Ah, Momo-chan!" Genkai lifted his head, opening his eyes in surprise. "You startled me!"

"Why? You heard me knock..."

"You're not generally done this early," he explained. "I thought it was Hou-san."

" _Hou-san_?" Toudai arched an eyebrow. "It's 'Hou-san' now?" 

He supposed it had been inevitable; Genkai had the tendency to give a nickname to anyone he knew more than a week or two. 

"He generally bathes while the children are being fed." Genkai grinned as Toudai seated himself in the washing area, doused himself with a bucket of water, and began to scrub down. “You know how good he's been at keeping the twins out of O’jou-san’s hair…”

That was a blessing indeed. While Toudai was extremely happy Gichou had taken up responsibility for continuing the family line – something Toudai wanted no part of – he had gone about it with his typical enthusiasm. As a result, his brother’s wife was dealing with four children under the age of five and a fifth soon to come. And no one would describe Jouan as a patient woman, even when not heavily pregnant.

Any way Houmei could contribute to her positive state of mind was most appreciated. Still ...

“I don’t suppose you mentioned anything to him about giving a hand with the threshing,” Toudai said, dipping the bucket in the bath a final time and rinsing the last of the soap from his body. 

“Mmm, yes,” Genkai said, laughing softly. “I brought up the subject, but before I knew it, we were talking about something else entirely.”

“Hn.” 

Frankly, that didn’t surprise Toudai. In the few weeks Houmei had been staying with them, he’d discovered the man had a great talent for quietly steering conversations away from topics he didn’t care to discuss, generally without the other participants even having suspected he’d done so. It was something Toudai found equal parts admirable and frustrating.

“He mentioned he’d be spending the next few afternoons at the temple,” Genkai continued, moving over to make room in the bath. “He didn’t say what he’ll be doing, though.”

If Toudai were a betting man, he would bet that Houmei had planned whatever it was so that he would be able to turn down any requests for help with work he found too tedious. “Ah well,” he said as he sank into the bath, the heat almost unbearable against his chilled skin. "We’ve gotten it done on our own every year before now. We'll get it done again."

"Maybe you could ask him to make your deliveries while he's in town," Genkai suggested. "It'd save you the trip."

"And run the risk of him leaving Momoko by the side of the road while he chases a bird into the woods?" 

Genkai laughed, but they both knew it was a distinct possibility. 

A soft knock at the door interrupted, followed by an unmistakable "Hello~" 

"Come in!" Genkai called before rising to get out of the bath. 

"Excuse the intrusion," Houmei said as he slid the door open. The blast of air that accompanied him was frigid enough that it made gooseflesh prickle across Toudai's skin and caused him to hunker down even further into the hot water. 

The speed with which Houmei removed his clothes, scrubbed down, and made his way to the bath was truly remarkable. While the monk was in many ways still a mystery to Toudai, there were two things he knew for certain: Houmei had a much greater appreciation of comfort than was perhaps appropriate for a man of his position, and a particular aversion to the cold. 

"I'll see you both back at the house," Genkai said as he slid on his coat and shoes, giving a quick wave before exiting into the snow-filled twilight.

"You know," Houmei said as he crossed in front of Toudai and stepped into the water, "it's really coming down out there!"

“Ah,” Toudai said in reply.

While the family was truly blessed to have a hot spring not only on their property, but within easy access of the home, it was not a large spring by any stretch of the imagination. It fit two normal-sized adults fairly well; however, Toudai was by no means a normal sized adult. He could easily share with Genkai or the boys, but sharing the spring with another full-sized man was an entirely different matter. Bathing with Houmei, it turned out, was a particular problem due to his tendency to stretch out in an effort to get as much of his body under the water as possible. 

In fact, it wasn't long before Houmei arranged himself so that the only part of his body not entirely submerged was his head from the nose up. It wouldn't have been so bad, Toudai thought, had his legs not been so terribly long. Because that was just the kind of thing of which Toudai had a tendency to take notice. 

The brush of a foot against his own that followed could have been taken as the inevitable consequence of cramped quarters. 

That is, had it not been for the spark of heat in Houmei’s eyes and the slow, lazy quirk of his mouth.

~*~*~*~

There was a faded woodblock print of a fisherman that had resided in the alcove of the house's main room as long as anyone could remember. As a child, Toudai had been fascinated by the print, spending more hours than he should have staring at it and wondering what it would be like to ride atop the waves in a boat like that, the blue ocean stretching as far as he could see. As the years passed and he'd become occupied with more important matters, thoughts such as those had been cast aside and the print had slowly faded from his notice. For many years, the print had been just one of countless things he saw on a daily basis but didn’t _see_ , a part of his surroundings to which he no longer paid heed.

That is, perhaps, why he didn't notice the change before.

The day's work had seemed like it would never end. One of the pregnant sows had gotten loose and the hunt for her had taken up half the morning, which put him several hours behind. Genkai had thankfully been able to make the day's trip into town for him, but Toudai still didn’t finish up in the barn until well after sunset. By the time he'd made it back to the house, dinner had long been over and the family seemed to have retired to their own rooms. His own meal had been left on the table, covered with a cloth and accompanied by a generously-filled flask of sake. 

It was approximately thirty minutes later, his mind filled with the pleasant, soft buzzing only a truly good sake could provide, that he looked up from the last few grains of cold rice in his bowl and realized quite suddenly that the woodblock print was gone, replaced by a simple piece of calligraphy.

The stark black of the ink against the crisp new paper stood out, even in the dim candlelit room. 

_Falling blossoms_  
Blossoms in bloom are also  
Falling blossoms 

Toudai stared at it, his eyes tracing the path of the brushstrokes. They weren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination; the second line began too dark and ended too light, and the white space between the lines was uneven, but there was something about the imperfections of the piece that made it even more striking. While Toudai may not have been the most learned of men, he knew enough to realize that what he was looking at was an absolutely _exquisite_ piece of work. 

It could have come from only once place.

Toudai pressed his hands together, mumbling his thanks for the meal, before throwing the cloth back over the dishes and rising to his feet. After extinguishing the beeswax candles on the table, he took the oil lamp from the ceiling and made his way down the long hallway toward the secluded rear of the house. The faint yellow light seeping from under the door of his room made it clear the other occupant was already inside.

He slid the door open, letting himself in, before sliding it gently back into place. As he'd expected, Houmei was not only there, but already buried under the mountain of covers on his futon. The snows may have been melting for the better part of two weeks, but Houmei still slept with as many blankets as he could find. Tonight, the only clue the mound concealed anything human was the mussed shock of blond hair that protruded from one end and the faint snoring that emerged. 

Toudai's own futon had already been set out, its proximity to Houmei's as clear an invitation as any. 

He set his lamp down beside the one Houmei had left lit and crossed the room to his closet. Changing into his nightclothes took no time at all and as he blew out the lamps, the warm yellows of the room were replaced with the cool blue of the moon high in the sky. As Toudai crawled into his futon, the mountain of blankets shifted beside him. 

"Momo-chan?" Houmei murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. 

“Mmm?” 

"You're late."

"Some of us have to work around here." Toudai grumbled, the statement more a part of a familiar script than a true complaint. “Even though others seem to have nothing better to do than watch the cherry blossoms fall.”

The mound moved gently up and down as Houmei laughed softly. 

"You never mentioned you were a poet," Toudai said, surprised by the faint hint of hurt in his own voice. 

"That's because I'm not." A warm hand snaked its way underneath Toudai’s blanket and around his arm.

"I believe there's evidence to the contrary in the main room..."

"Mmm." Houmei began rubbing his finger against the skin of Toudai's wrist in an absentminded motion. "My poems aren't poems." 

"You know," Toudai said, turning onto his side to face Houmei, “I really have no idea what you're saying half the time.” 

The moonlight highlighted the fine line of his brow and the curve of Houmei’s lips as he smiled in reply. 

"Aren't you cold?" he asked after a moment, lightly tugging Toudai’s arm. 

This too, was part of the now-familiar script.

"I suppose I am."

~*~*~*~

It was said that summer didn’t truly begin until the first cicada began its cry. The sun may have beaten down relentlessly on the paddies for weeks as the rice began its journey toward the sky, but summer didn’t arrive until the day Toudai stood underneath an oak tree and saw Houmei sitting on a large rock, writing in the air with his finger.

Watching from afar, Toudai felt something strange growing within him – something he didn’t have the words to describe. In that moment, there was something about the grace of Houmei’s motions and the sun in his hair that took his breath away. But while Toudai was far enough away that he couldn’t discern what Houmei was writing, he wasn’t so far away that he didn’t notice the hat, begging bowl, and small bundle of belongings sitting on the rock next to him. 

And that could only mean one thing.

Toudai stood still, all thoughts of the day’s work gone, his attention focused entirely on the scene in the distance as the sharp cry of the cicada began to build in the grove behind him.

Houmei’s hand eventually slowed, then came to a stop. He sat entirely still for a minute, then two, before hopping down from his rock. He then put on his hat, picked up the bowl and bundle, and began to make his way straight toward Toudai. It didn’t take him long at all to cross between the paddies and make his way up the steep path to the hilltop where Toudai stood. 

“Skipping out on work?” he teased, standing in front of Toudai and nudging him with a single finger to the shoulder.

Toudai chuckled around the bittersweet feeling in his chest. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Yes,” Houmei broke into a broad grin. “I’ve heard that before.” 

The cicada’s song filled the silence between them before Toudai spoke. “You’re leaving.”

Houmei nodded. “Summer is the best time to travel,” he added in explanation.

It was something with which Toudai couldn’t disagree. 

“The children will miss you.” 

“Only the children?” The hopeful look on his face was meant to be comical, but even he couldn’t conceal the hint of truth it contained.

Any other time and Toudai might have looked away, muttering a protest. But this time…

“No,” he admitted, his gaze steady. “Not only the children.” 

The smile he received in return was entirely genuine.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Houmei stepped forward and up onto his toes, tilting his head enough to brush his lips against Toudai’s---

“But there are more things out there to see. More people to meet, and other skies to sleep under.” The dappled sunlight danced around him as the oak leaves above waved gently in the breeze.

“Other sake to drink, you mean,” Toudai grumbled. He may have grown somewhat attached to Houmei, but he held no delusions about the man’s priorities.

“That too!” Houmei laughed as he settled back on his heels. He tilted his head and his expression grew serious. “I am indebted to you for the hospitality you have shown me,” he said, the formal language falling from his tongue as if he’d been born to speak it.

And for all Toudai knew, perhaps he had been. Despite their months together, there were still many things about the monk that were very much a mystery to him. Toudai watched as he turned and began his way back down the path.

Houmei hadn’t made it twenty steps before he stopped abruptly and turned. “You know,” he called over his shoulder, “I could always use a companion.” 

And as tempting as the thought was, Toudai could only shake his head and laugh. 

“Ask me again next year,” he replied, raising his hand in farewell.

**Author's Note:**

> So, back in the day, there was a monk named [Daigu Ryokan](%E2%80%9D). His name, given to him by his teacher, translates to “Great Fool, Good and Broad.” He’s well known for wandering around, getting up to wacky hijinks, refusing to be a proper monk, and being a genius zen poet/calligrapher. After having read pretty much everything about him I could get my hands on, nothing will convince me that Minekura-sensei didn’t at least partially use him as inspiration for Houmei/Koumyou. Some of the ideas and language in this fic I blatantly, without compunction, lifted from his poetry and/or writings about him. I can pretty much guarantee that any idea or turn of phrase you found particularly clever was not originally mine. Real life truly is better than fiction sometimes.


End file.
